Just a Little Sip
by Stylin' Breeze
Summary: He took just a little sip when the police arrived. And now he had to face the consequences.


**Today was a weird day. I made further progress on the final chapter of Coup d'Etat, then edited the first chapter of my next(?) WIP, and then, still not satisfied, I tidied up this one-shot that I wrote a year ago. So enjoy some Tendou angst.**

* * *

Tendou jammed his knees into his eye sockets, the concrete wall behind him offering no support for his curled spine. He tried to ignore the dozen fellow inmates of the holding cell in the local jail. Tendou never once fathomed seeing the inside of a jail. It was cold, rancorous, alienating, dehumanizing, spirit-draining, disheartening, humiliating, cringe-worthy, surreal, blasé, seemingly unfit for habitation. The other teenage boys in the cell—all of them no more than acquaintances—carried themselves variably. Some were silent and despondent, while some carried on chatting as if this were routine. He caught the classmate he was most familiar with sneak a glance and then divert his gaze elsewhere.

The boy in question had gotten Tendou into this mess. Satori figured the kid disclaimed all responsibility; after all, it was Tendou who'd voluntarily attended the party. He didn't know there would be drinking. He'd only taken a few sips under peer pressure when police showed up.

Now Tendou dreaded what would come next once the team found out. Underage drinking was taboo for "celebrities" like himself. There were cases of teams getting banned from nationals over public scandals too. Tendou gulped. Was his volleyball career toast? Were all his screaming fans going to desert him, refrain from calling his name to avoid the appearance of endorsing his behavior? Would the shouts of "Guess Monster" become a distant, tarnished memory for many? Would people renounce ever having uttered his nickname in the first place?

No bones about it, he was toast.

At last, hope came as Tendou was released after the initial processing. Now to face the world.

How would his squad react when they found out? Tsutomu would mock him inhumanly. Shirabu would make some snide remark as a show of superiority. Ushijima would remain silent, saying all he needed to with a glare. Normally Satori would go ballistic and frolic in his own energetic abandon, but neither would be an option here. He trudged out to his parents' car as they mutely took him home.

* * *

Tendou patted a volleyball up and down on the gymnasium floor while practice waged on without him nearby. He couldn't retort or criticize his teammates. The fact of the matter was he'd gotten himself into this mess. He'd barely drunk enough to even feel an effect. In fact, his first taste of alcohol came with an embarrassing cough at the sting. He swore to his teammates he'd never done anything like it before or ever would again. There was no believing him. That's when Satori realized that, to them, he was just a loose cannon: he could be accused of knocking up a girl and his teammates might half-believe it.

Satori caught the ball and sneered. Amidst such passive hostility he fancied the idea of youthful, self-indulgent abandon, humming ignorantly, spiking balls blithely, swaying confidently in spite of his teammates' stares. To attempt any of his usual antics now was not possible. To act his carefree self would imply incognizance of his transgression; incognizance implied lack of remorse; lack of remorse implied pride; pride implied guilt; guilt, to many, implied he was a sordid person; sordidness implied recidivism—that he'd always done it and would do it again.

Behind the scenes, the elderly coach Washijou had campaigned with the principal to overlook the actions of a single bad seed, insisting not on Satori's innocence but on the ubiquitous nature of teenage folly. It pissed Tendou off: he had to claim to be a delinquent in order to transcend his delinquency, and he couldn't stand it. His conscience assailed his every limb, demanding he lash out. Fighting the system was pointless, and to be in denial implied he felt no shame. As part of his obligatory repentance, he was not allowed to play with the others. He was literally sidelined with a single volleyball that he bounced in one spot on coach's orders. That Tendou was even allowed to touch a ball at all was a hollow victory.

Coach pattered back into the hall, avoiding any glance Satori's direction as he waddled toward the bench. Tendou sulked and bounced the ball again. How long would this go on?

Should he just quit volleyball?

As far as society was concerned, was he _expected_ to quit volleyball?

He caught the ball again and compressed it angrily in his palms. He wanted to pummel his classmate—one of the "cool" kids—who'd invited him to the shindig. To be part of the greatest clique in the halls was a bona fide miracle. Now he wished he had had nothing to do with the brats. Earlier that day, his supposed friend prowled the halls with a slouch as if the judgmental looks from his peers was second nature. Satori was half-tempted to behave similarly; defying social mores was certainly better than wallowing in mandatory shame, but having felt the adoration of so many spectators, the "Guess Monster" could not possibly stand being ostracized.

He had gone from being a monster everyone was proud of to a monster society wanted nothing to do with it.

Tendou glanced over his shoulder at the seated coach and marched over. The aged man tilted not his head or diverted his glance from the practice of the other boys when Tendou stood over him. The less stony assistant coach did shoot a glance but tried to pretend like Satori wasn't there for the sake of the silent chief. Tendou, who towered like a giant over the seated pipsqueak, furrowed his vision at the elderly gentleman.

"Coach…," he began.

"What are you doing standing there?" Coach Tanji Washijou interrupted, his eyes focused on the players beyond. Tendou gnawed his lower lip.

"Look—"

"When I was young, we didn't act so disgraceful. We _cared_ about our image," the coach singed. Tendou quivered at the rebuke. "We didn't 'screw up' like the teenagers nowadays."

"Sir," beckoned the assistant coach Saito.

"Just my opinion," Washijou finished. He twiddled his thumbs and glanced at the floor, the first time his eyes diverted away from the practice game in front of him. "Of course, in my day, short people didn't excel at volleyball."

Tendou jolted, trying to decipher the meaning. Suddenly he noticed the coach's eyes gazing deep into his.

"It's been five days. The gunk's probably out of your system. But it'll be 10 days before you get back in shape after not practicing, but at least all those ball bounces would have flushed the junk out of your muscles." He threw up his nose. "Well, assuming you didn't do it again—but you're not _that_ stupid, are you?" He cast a dark, piercing glare into Satori's eyes. "'Cause if you are, you should quit before you bring the whole team down."

Tendou dropped his glance.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Tendou didn't know what he was sorry for—or rather, he didn't know what _in particular_ he was sorry for: the alcohol, the team's reputation, the inconvenience on his coach, the disruption to practice. In truth, he was sorry for all of it. From the court, Ushijima cast a glance, faintly detecting the apology.

Washijou glared stoutly at his middle blocker, bearing no emotion, and then he stood up firmly, still coming well short of the teenager.

"It's about time!" he bellowed and pointed at the court. "Now get out there and hit 100 spikes so your teammates can have a break!"

Satori gaped incredulously, but his coach was unwavering. From the court, Ushijima shut his eyes calmly and silently waved the team to pause practice.

"Are you deaf?!" Washijou cried again.

Satori smacked his palms together, bowed quickly, and scuttled onto the court. He fumbled up in front of a ball and raised it. It suddenly felt different from the ball he'd been bouncing the past several days, even though it was the same material and manufacturer. Opposite the net, his teammates stretched to keep themselves limber, awaiting Satori's first spike. Ushijima beckoned a challenge from the middle blocker.

Satori licked his lips as he eyed Wakatoshi, shuttled backward, tossed, and leapt for a jumping serve. It wasn't perfect; that would take a bit of time. He couldn't move 100% past this little snafu yet, but at least he could play volleyball.


End file.
